Because You're an Idiot
by Arlothia
Summary: Realization dawned on him. There was only one reason why Sherlock wouldn't follow a lead.


**Hey guys! My first Sherlock fic and it's dedicated to stromberg! I absolutely love this show and am really looking forward to it next year. But it's a _year!_ I don't know if I can wait that long. **

**Anyway, I'm sure you would be able to guess this from the first sentence, but this is for 'The Blind Banker' so there are spoilers for that episode as well as for 'A Study in Pink.' This is my take on how this scene should have played out. Hope you like it...and look at the A/N at the bottom to get some nifty info...Enjoy!**

**Almost forgot...I don't own anything...Dang it!**

* * *

Sherlock stood in Soo Lin Yao's flat, observing the signs of the woman's hasty departure as well as the signs of an intruder.

"Why didn't he close the window when he left—?" His eyes lit up and the frown was erased from his forehead. "Oh, stupid, _stupid_," he whispered viciously to himself. "Obvious. He's still here." His eyes fixed on a small decorative screen a few paces in front of him. A prime hiding place. He stalked forward, hand outstretched, and quickly pulled it aside, prepared to act. But no one was behind it.

Sherlock let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His shoulders eased their tension. But there was a sudden rustling behind him. Before he could even register this, let alone turn around, he felt a cloth close around his neck, pulling him backward to be pinned against his assailant. His hands flew to his neck, trying to pull the weapon away.

"John!" His voice barely crept over a strangled cry. He tried to wrestle away from the man, for it had to be a man to be that strong and that tall. "John!" he managed again but softer this time. He was running out of air.

It was useless, he though. John wouldn't be able to hear him. He had left him outside. Again. He could hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, yelling at him though he couldn't tell what he was saying. He was wasting what little air he had left. But what use would that air be anyway? It didn't matter how much breath he had in him. It would all be wasted inside his lungs, unable to draw in the much-needed oxygen.

By now their struggle had brought them to the floor. Sherlock had no more fresh air in him. His vision became obscured as his eyes rolled back into his head; his eyelids fluttering. His struggling grew nonexistent; body easing due to lack of necessary breath. But still the cloth did not ease from around his neck, even after his world had gone dark.

* * *

Down on the sidewalk, John was pacing back and forth outside the door to the apartment building, pausing every now and then to yell at Sherlock through the mail slot.

"Any time you want to include me!" Again there was no answer. "I'm wasting my breath," he said, standing up and walking to the edge of the road. Little did he know his friend was thinking the same thing.

"No, I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone," he said mockingly, "because no one can compete with my _massive intellect_!" He shouted the last two words into the mail slot. He stood up again, exasperated. "Fine," he said, starting to head to the back alley. "Well I'm coming up whether you like it or not."

He looked up at the ladder that Sherlock had used to get into the flat. Being shorter than Sherlock, John knew he couldn't jump up and grab the bottom rung. Adding to the problem was the fact that the ladder had swung back up, out of even Sherlock's reach. John looked around for anything that could help him get up. But he suddenly jerked his head up as he heard a clamoring.

He didn't know why, but he hid behind one of the dumpsters. And it was a good thing that he did. A figure in black, obviously in a hurry, scrambled down the fire escape, jumping onto the ladder only to jump off as soon as he touched it. He rolled as he landed and ran out to the street.

John realized that this must be the intruder he had heard Sherlock rattling on about. But where was he? Surely Sherlock would chase after the intruder.

He quickly returned to the street to see if Sherlock had exited via the front door. He was nowhere to be seen. Realization dawned on him. There was only one reason why Sherlock wouldn't follow a lead.

"Oh my…Sherlock!" John raced back to the alley. The ladder had angled down from the weight of the intruder. John jumped up to grab it. His fingers almost reached the bottom rung. He tried again. Squatting down, he gathered all the strength in his legs and sprang up, reaching the ladder with ease, and pulled it down.

"Sherlock!" he yelled again as he climbed the ladder. He climbed through the window that Sherlock had, knocking over a vase. He straightened up, looking around. "Sherlock?" He walked around the room, not finding his friend. When he turned to look in another room separated by a beaded curtain he saw an unmistakable mass of curly black hair lying on the ground, unmoving.

"Sherlock!" John rushed into the room, throwing aside the stringed beads, and kneeled down by his friend. He turned the unconscious man onto his back and ripped the scarf off of his neck, along with a white cloth, and checked his pulse. Nothing.

John started to panic as he reached to unbutton Sherlock's coat, preparing to start compressions. "Come on, Sherlock," John panted, beating rapidly at his chest. "I don't care if breathing is boring. You're going to do it. Come on!"

John's mind was racing. How long had Sherlock been without oxygen? How long had he been performing CPR? Dread filled him as he continued with the compressions and still nothing happened.

But all dread and fear were dispelled as Sherlock's eyes flew open and he drew in a large breath. He turned onto his side, trying to escape the hands that pressed painfully on his chest. His hand went to his neck and massaged where the white cloth had pressed against his throat. He coughed and his hand went to his chest where the coughing had brought his attention to the soreness that was there. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, coughing again and taking in ragged breaths.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" said a voice from behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and had the fleeting thought that his assailant was still there. But when he turned his head and opened his eyes to look at the concerned face above him, he immediately relaxed.

"John." His voice was hoarse. Putting his hands on the floor he braced himself to get up. He felt John's hands helping him but impeding him from going further than a seated position.

"The acrobat?" he said, wheezing.

"Gone. He left before I got here," John replied. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Of course I'm not alright. I was almost strangled to death!" Sherlock spoke in that hasty manner without pausing between sentences. The anger in his voice caught John off guard and Sherlock noticed it. "But I'm alive because of you. I guess that's two now I owe you."

"Two?" asked John, puzzled, the unspoken thanks accepted. "I thought you had that whole pill business all sorted."

"What? No. Of course I did," Sherlock corrected himself. "It's just the shock talking."

"Well I don't see an orange blanket anywhere…"

"Oh just shut up and help me to my feet!"

John smiled to himself, stood, and offered his hand to Sherlock, which he took. When he got to his feet John had to catch and steady him as he stumbled. Sherlock's eyes darted around, unfocused.

"Black spots?" John ventured.

"More like slightly opaque grey splotches but to answer your question plainly: yes."

Sherlock allowed himself to be helped by John down the stairs to the front door before removing his arm from around his shoulders and detaching himself from his colleague. He buttoned up his jacked and straightened his scarf, which he had retrieved from the floor, although John wondered how he could have something like that around his neck after what just happened. But then again he wasn't Sherlock Holmes. Which reminded him…

"I'm going in with you next time," he said as they exited the building.

"What?"

"Next time, when you go off gallivanting for clues, I'm coming with you," John explained. "No more of this working alone nonsense. No more risking your life to prove you're clever. We're partners after all."

Sherlock gave a sideways glance at his friend whose face was set and determined, staring straight ahead as they walked down the sidewalk. His lips twitched slightly. "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

**So what did you think? I tried to make it as realistic as possible and tried to keep them in character. I would appreciate your thoughts.**

**Anyway, as promised: Nifty info!**

**1) In case you were thinking that CPR included mouth-to-mouth...not any more! My dad took a CPR class recently and they said that just doing the compressions will get the person breathing again, so don't stop! **

**2) My wonderful sister, Firewhisperer, came up with this title as I was struggling a little bit with it. It comes from the end of 'A Study in Pink' after 'the whole pill business is sorted.' John says: "That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? you risk your life to prove you're clever." Sherlock: "Why would I do that?" John: "Because you're an idiot." Ta Da!**

**3) Also, do you want to know what rate you're supposed to do them? Do the compressions to the beat of the song "Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees. How cool is that!**

**4) I have ideas for at least two other Sherlock fics (milti-chapter no less) that will be coming around in the kind-of distant future (school and all that...)**

**5) However, I do have other finished one-shots on the way. But these aren't for Sherlock...They're for Amazing Grace. Ever seen that movie? It's...well...amazing! I absolutely love it. And...*looks around conspiratorially*...It has Benedict Cumberbatch in it! He's such a good actor. Anyway, I was surprised that there weren't any fanfics for Amazing Grace so I have ideas for 9 stories. I have about two finished and at least one is going to be a series of unrelated drabbles. The first two should be coming relatively soon so keep your eyes open!**

**Thanks again for reading this. R&R please!**

**And again, thank you to toeki for pointing out my grammatical mistakes!**

**Also, Ethelinda's Window pointed out that if Sherlock's heart did indeed stop, then he would need a defib to bring him back, because no amount of CPR would do it. She said that having Sherlock bradycardic would make more sense. So let's just say that shall we?**

**Thanks again guys! Where would I be without you? ^_^**


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